


Count-back Failure

by Anna_banana



Series: F1 Athletics [9]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: A whole lot of mentioned characters, AU, Alternate Universe, Athletics AU, Hair Dyeing, M/M, Sports, and pairings, athletics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_banana/pseuds/Anna_banana
Summary: Brendon never wanted to be known as the count back failure guy and he certainly never expected to be best known for rumours that he’s fucking a famous French athlete, but sometimes one just has to play the cards that they’re dealt.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Brendon Hartley
Series: F1 Athletics [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1072689
Kudos: 12





	Count-back Failure

**Author's Note:**

> While you can read this as a stand-alone I would (of course) recommend reading the other works in this series (part 4 is most relevant)

Brendon never wanted to be known as the count back failure guy and he certainly never expected to be best known for rumours that he’s fucking a famous French athlete, but sometimes one just has to play the cards that they’re dealt. Admittedly without context, it’s a story that doesn’t make much sense. So let's go back to the beginning.

The countback thing is easy enough to explain. Brendon has been a professional athlete since he was 18 and the expression always the bridesmaid never the bride perfectly sums up his major competition record, well and also his love life to be honest, but mostly the competition thing. He’s a good pole vaulter, almost always peaking exactly on time for world competition, reaching consistently high marks. It’s always failure at earlier heights that ruins him though, shifting a medal from gold to bronze, from bronze to fourth place. The countback thing is easy enough to explain, the French athlete thing is less so. 

The first time he really notices Pierre is at the World Championships, although that’s not surprising. Brendon managed to tear a muscle in the qualifiers, meaning he’s out of competition and even most training sessions for a while. He doesn’t normally have much time to watch the sport he loves, too busy training and competing, so he decides to make the most out of a dreadful situation, stay in Doha and watch the other athletes compete. 

So anyway, the first time he notices him is during competition at the World Championship but that’s not surprising really. It’s the first time he notices almost any athlete who isn’t either a Pole Vaulter, a Kiwi or extremely famous. 

The first time he notices him isn’t all that special, it’s the first time he notices pretty much any of the French 400m relay squad but then that’s just the way of sport, Brendon knows all too well. Everyone knows you when you’re winning, and instantly forgets when you stop, but for now the French relay team have won the 4x400m relay, and Brendon stops to take notice. He scans the programme he picked up quickly, using the legs ran to put names to faces. 

The athlete who ran first is Romain Grosjean, who Brendon does recognise actually. All of the pole vaulters know him, he seems to have some weird flirty thing going on with Kevin, although no one knows what’s going on for sure, as far as he knows none of them brave enough to ask the Dane about it. The athlete in second was Esteban Ocon, and the only thought that comes to Brendon’s mind is ‘legs!!!’ so he dismisses that and looks at the final two athletes, Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly. The celebrations have begun to die down and the officials are trying to usher everyone to do their victory lap before the next race begins. As they jog away holding the French flag, Brendon notices that they stay slightly closer to each other than they do the other two athletes. He also notices that they are both very attractive, Charles like a stereotypical model and Pierre with ridiculously cute hair. 

Lots of athletes are attractive however, so he simply files the opinion somewhere in the back of his mind before watching as the third round of the long jump begins. When Lewis Hamilton jumps, the crowd is tense, he’s a favourite to win but this is his last chance to get a jump in, his last chance to make the finals after two no jumps. He’s safe on the board, not only that but it’s a massive jump. The crowd cheers loudly, but there is a shout near him that seems to drown them all out. Brendon shifts as subtly as he can to see who it is and finds a grinning Valtteri Bottas, the athlete rumoured to be Lewis’ boyfriend. Seeing the way they look at each other, Brendon can tell that it’s not just a rumour. That must be nice, having that, he thinks to himself.

When Brendon leaves a few minutes later he tells himself it’s because the programme for the day is nearly done anyway, and he doesn’t want to get stuck in the crowd when leaving. It’s nothing to do with loneliness, absolutely not. 

A few days later and it’s time for Brendon’s flight home. Well not really home, but Austria where he trains with his coach Franz. While he might live there frequently enough to consider it home, it’s never really felt like that to him, certainly not the way New Zealand does anyway. The airport is pretty busy, unsurprising seeing as the World’s have just ended. Luckily enough though his flight is at a hellish enough hour- a time struggling to find its place between morning and night, which prevents the place from being too crowded. 

He has to fly enough for competitions that Brendon goes through the motions on autopilot, checking his bags, walking through security, before trying to find the perfect seat to wait in. Private enough that he can get some rest but close enough to his gate that a last minute call would wake him up and give him time to make his flight, a few missed flights in the past having perfected his methods. 

Well used to this routine by now it doesn’t take long for Brendon to find the ideal spot. Before he sits down however he notices someone else has already claimed a spot nearby. While that doesn’t bother him, the fact that their eyes seem to be glued to one page of a book, not moving to scan the pages, but seemingly just trying to hide their red rimmed eyes does.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs to them, trying to keep his voice quiet enough that they can just ignore him if they want to. 

Instead the head snaps up sharply. The man is tense, but when he sees the New Zealand tracksuit he relaxes, likely grateful that it’s just a random athlete and not some fan, or maybe even grateful that it isn’t someone he knows. 

Brendon has never felt more grateful for the fact that his kit is so comfy, encouraging him to wear it for most flights.

“I’m Brendon,” he says finally when his question remains unanswered, deciding to sit in the seat opposite.

He’s close enough the other man can talk if he wants too, but far enough away that he can stick his face back in his book if he simply wants to be left alone. 

“Pierre,” comes the quiet reply.

Now that he is looking properly, Brendon is surprised he didn’t recognise the other man sooner, despite the fact he looks a bit different. Brendon realises he didn’t recognise him as he would have expected there to be bright blond on top of his unruly hair. Instead it has been redyed, the unruly hair now brown all over. He looks into watery blue eyes and wonders if the change of colour can really be coincidence or if it is reflective of the change in mood.

“Congratulations on the relay gold,” Brendon says softly.

As soon as he says it, he realises that the man must be upset over something more personal than track results. 

“Thanks,” comes the reply.

Pierre sounds sincere and his eyes brighten for a moment before he slumps back down, lower into his seat. 

Brendon finds himself thinking the other man should always look like he did in that brief moment of happiness. He also curses himself, realising that his current train of thought is far less altruistic than his original reasons for sitting here. 

“I don’t think I saw you…?” comes a tentative question after a moment of quiet.

Brendon is happy to take the question for what it is and thinks to himself, distraction, if nothing else I can certainly manage that. 

So Brendon talks, he discusses the qualifiers and how he injured himself, talks about the most exciting events he watched. Gradually Pierre comes out of his shell, he asks about Brendon’s injury, about his plans for the next season. Brendon simply answers the questions readily, going into as much detail as he can without boring the other man back into tears. He doesn’t ask any questions in return, gathering that they probably wouldn’t be appreciated. 

“I did something stupid,”

“Idiotic, idiotic,” he corrects after a breath.

Brendon notes the change of wording with a hint of confusion. It didn’t sound like Pierre was changing the word because of some sort of nuance between them, but rather as though he was changing the word because he doesn’t think of it as his own. 

Rather than trying to prompt him, Brendon simply waits the moment out, figuring that Pierre will only talk if he really wants to. 

“I made a pass at my friend,” Pierre starts, and then the rest of the words follow rapidly, as though if he doesn’t let them out now they will be trapped within him forever.

“I was so sure he was interested, I mean to me it feels like we’ve been on some sort of precipice for like forever. But well,” he scoffs, “obviously I was wrong. We have been best friends since we were kids and he just doesn’t see me like that.”

As Brendon listens to the younger man talk, he wishes that he couldn’t relate. But well, he can relate, so all he can do is talk about his own mostly scarred over by now pain, and hope that it helps somehow. 

“I’ve been there,” Brendon starts, and Pierre simply gapes at him.

Brendon pauses, letting the other man decide if he wants to hear the story or not. Brendon knows all too well that sometimes you just want to wallow, that placating comments can feel more like a twisting of the dagger that’s already lodged in your heart. 

“Do you ever get over it?” Pierre asks.

Some might think that it’s a ridiculous question, but Brendon knows all too well that some feelings feel as though they’ll never end, that some feelings never truly do.

So he tells Pierre a story. He tells him about Daniel, about how they stuck close together at training camps a long way from home, despite the fact they have always done different events, despite the fact that Daniel has always been able to effortlessly make friends with anyone he wants to. 

He tells him about what has always been lodged in his mind, as the most humiliating Valentines Day anyone has ever faced. He tells him how they are still friends, how Daniel is the kind of guy it’s impossible to not be friends with.

“It doesn’t go away but it does get duller,” he says finally. 

“It was actually when Daniel started seeing someone seriously, when I could tell how truly happy he was that I started thinking about it less.” 

Pierre listened intently to the whole thing, a concoction of hope and relief now reflecting in his eyes.

“That’s my experience anyway,” Brendon mumbles finally, the statement awkwardly tagged onto the end, a signifier that he’s run out of words.

There’s a pause, quiet but comfortable, that is, until Pierre’s eyes catch on the clock behind Brendon.

“Fuck,” he curses, “I have to get my flight soon.”

Brendon simply looks at him, not knowing what could be so bad about that.

“I’m sitting next to Charles,” Pierre says with a groan.

And _‘ah that explains it’,_ Brendon thinks to himself. 

“Then move, get a different flight if you have too!”

If Pierre knew Brendon well the suggestion wouldn’t be surprising. Brendon has always found himself with the unfortunate ability after all, to be far more bold with other peoples’ lives than he is with his own. 

_‘You’re brave, you’re a brave person, and yet you always have to hide that behind someone else,’_ a voice from his past echoes. 

Pierre hasn’t replied yet but he looks like he’s considering the idea, head tilted in thought, so Brendon carries on.

“There’s lots of flights on just now you could always get a later flight to France, hell I’m based in Austria it’s hardly that far, you could always get a connection from there.” 

The ideas spill from him quickly, Brendon trying to get all of the words out before he could change his mind and halt them from leaving his mouth. The speed has another added benefit, allowing Pierre to ignore the parts that he doesn’t want to listen to. 

Pierre stands up suddenly, a grin on the borderlines of manic filling his face. When Brendon doesn’t immediately stand up with him he frowns, holding his hand out impatiently. 

“Come on then,” he says, “I need to change my flight and it’ll be far quicker if you have the Austria details with you.” 

Understanding dawning on him, Brendon takes the proffered hand and allows himself to be dragged along behind Pierre to a help desk. 

“How long do we have?” 

“About an hour,” Brendon replies trying not to feel too bashful about it.

He likes to be punctual, okay.

“Excellent,” comes the response. “I need to go to one of the shops for some blond hair dye.”

Brendon tries not to be too bemused by this cute Frenchman who reminds him of the stars when he smiles and who seems to use his hair like it’s a mood ring. Brendon tries even harder not to let too much of his sudden fondness slip through his expression. 

Months later and Brendon is only formerly known as the countback failure guy. Now he’s best known as the guy who is rumoured to be sleeping with French athlete Pierre Gasly. 

In response he says no comment. In fact both of them respond to those lines of query with a no comment- for now anyway. 

What he would be willing to comment on is the fact that he may spend more time and money on flights between France and Austria than most people could imagine. He may also be willing to comment that his and Pierre’s planned competition schedules are almost perfectly aligned. 

The only comment Brendon really has at the moment is simple however, and it’s the fact that he’s finally happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Who me, writing this when it’s been in my notes as an idea for years. Who me, writing my first proper Brendon centric fic years after he left F1 and Pierre/Brendon is a fond past memory? You betcha


End file.
